


Don't Bring Me Flowers

by Butterfly



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always the Opposite Sex, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-12
Updated: 2009-06-12
Packaged: 2017-10-26 19:25:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/287003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butterfly/pseuds/Butterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jen Kirk is being courted and, for reasons that are perfectly logical, Spock objects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Bring Me Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [the Star Trek kinkmeme](http://st-xi-kink.livejournal.com/).

"... the third time this month," the captain complained, her agile fingers playing restlessly over her rook before she moved it decisively to B5. Spock resisted the urge show the slightest sign of dismay at her choice, knowing that she would jump eagerly on any hint of weakness.

“Logically, he must have a reason to continue to pursue you,” Spock said, trying to see a way out of the neat trap the captain had laid for him. “He is not a man given to light whims.”

“Andorian spice cakes,” Jen Kirk sighed. Spock swallowed at the husky tone of her voice, then attempted to distract himself by making his move. Jen stared up at where he'd foolishly placed his queen, then looked back over at him, an unspoken question in her eyes. “I can't resist them,” she continued. “So, he thinks he's got a chance.”

“You could easily send them back to him and purchase your own,” Spock pointed out. “There is no reason not to, unless part of you welcomes his advances.”

“I wouldn't mind sleeping with him,” Jen said, leaning closer to Spock. Her scent rose up, clean human sweat with the faintest hint of a floral soap. “The problem is that he wants more than that. He's... he's doing a full-blown courtship and I've...”

She was frustrated and Spock wished that he relieve her anxiety, if only a little. But all he knew of courtship rituals was what Nyota told him, which was a poor substitute for the breadth of knowledge that Kirk's human friends could provide for her. And yet, it was Spock that Jen was pouring out her troubles to, not Leonard McCoy.

“Captain?” Spock prompted.

“I've never been courted,” Jen said, finally. Her voice was heavy with human emotions that Spock did not trust himself to translate. “I've had plenty of fucks-” the coarse word made something inside Spock flinch, though he controlled his outward expressions “-and I've had 'arrangements', but I've never had anyone treat me like-”

Her hands were almost fluttering in her attempt to explain the situation, but she cut herself off, bright blue gaze darting away from his.

“Cap- _Jen_ ,” Spock said, part of him wishing that he were human enough to take her hand in comfort. “I believe that we are friends. You may speak your mind to me.”

Jen crossed one leg over the other, black pants clinging to her muscles, and he carefully kept his eyes away from the movement. When he'd first met her in person, after she'd been called up for cheating on her _Kobayashi Maru_ , she'd worn the skirt option that had come into popularity three standard years ago, but she wore pants for her common uniform. Strange – he saw Nyota's legs every day and Jen Kirk's only that single day, yet he never had to remind himself not to stare at Nyota's legs. Curiosity versus familiarity, perhaps. He should investigate and see if any studies had been conducted on the subject.

“The first time I slept with a boy, he called me a slut the next day because I was flirting with someone else,” Jen said, her voice tight. “I hadn't realized he'd wanted something serious. None of guys in Riverside treated me like the other girls after that. I mostly didn't sleep with them, only out-of-towners, but, dammit, Spock, I like sex. It's not a crime. Plenty of guys have as many notches on their bedpost as I do, but they don't get judged for it.”

“Truly, human culture has its oddities, even now,” Spock said. “I concur that it makes no rational sense to judge a female differently for sexual promiscuity than a male.”

“Oh, come on, Spock. I know you don't approve of my behavior,” Jen said. “Don't pretend you do.”

“That is not what I said,” Spock said serenely. “Merely that your sex should have no impact on whether I approve or disapprove.”

“Uhura wasn't a virgin, huh?” Jen said, in a stunningly illogical non sequitur. Before he could manage to form a rebuttal, she continued, “You know, we almost hooked up.”

“If you're referring to the many times that you made sexual advances to the Lieutenant and her just as frequent refusals, I would say that you are rewriting past events,” Spock said.

“Huh, she told you about that?” Jen didn't seem very disturbed at the idea. If anything, she seemed intrigued. “And here I thought you two spent all your time talking about language and dusty knowledge, but you're busy talking about me.”

“You are far from being the sole subject of our conversations,” Spock said reprovingly. “We converse on a wide variety of topics, ranging from xenolinguistics and ethics to hypothetical scenarios and potential life plans.”

He paused, tracing the thread of conversation backward.

“And I believe that you are attempting to... to 'derail' the conversation,” Spock said. Jen winced and very theatrically covered her eyes with her hands. She never did anything simply if it could be done extravagantly. “We were speaking of Ambassador Dorien's persistent courtship, a subject that continues to agitate you.”

“He's _sweet_ ,” she said, her intonation similar to the way that he had heard other humans say 'disgusting'. “I don't know what to do with 'sweet'. And he's earnest. And... he's important.”

“Perhaps you should consider his proposal,” Spock said, though he found himself with the odd impulse to take the words back and have them remain unsaid. “Though I must admit that I find it hard to believe he is the first person to wish a commitment with you. By human standards, you are quite attractive, and you have no lack of potential bedmates.”

“By human standards,” she repeated, softly, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Alright, Spock, here's the difference: he's the first guy who wants me but doesn't want me to change for him.”

“I do not understand,” Spock said. “What sense does it make for a partner to wish changes in the person he desires?”

“There's nothing you wish were different about Uhura?” Jen asked, eyes sharp with interest.

“If she were other than she is, she would not be the woman that I care for,” Spock said. “I cannot fathom why that would be preferable.”

“You're quite the catch, Mr. Spock,” Jen said, something oddly brittle in her voice. “Unfortunately, the men I've known haven't shared that opinion. Mostly, they wanted me to stop talking to other men. Well, they called it flirting, but it seemed as though every conversation I had with another guy counted as flirting, even if I was just asking the time.”

“You do have an exceedingly welcoming manner that they may have erroneously believed was flirtatious,” Spock theorized. “I often have a hard time myself determining whether you are truly interested in someone or just being yourself with them.”

“But if you were... dating me, you would just accept that, as part of who I am?” Jen asked, skeptically.

“Indeed, I would,” Spock said.

“Wow, can I clone you?” She was clearly teasing, but the light in her eyes made Spock feel mildly uncomfortable. She seemed to notice, though he didn't believe he'd given any outward signs, because she turned her attention back to the game.

They spoke no more on the subject of Ambassador Dorien that evening, but Spock found his thoughts returning to the subject more often than he would have admitted.

***

The next time the subject came up was on shore leave. Kirk had managed to talk a small group of the crew into going to a 'tight' bar that she had heard of – Spock did not particularly wish to join them, but knew that refusing to go would merely cause the captain to sulk, so he put up relatively little fuss – and Ambassador Dorien had, somehow, discovered their destination.

Upon their arrival, they were whisked to the best seats in the house, or so the woman guiding them claimed, and the small stage lit up in front of them. The round tables permitted only four occupied stools each, so he and Nyota sat with McCoy and Kirk, while Sulu, Chekov, Scotty and Gaila sat at the table next to them. On the stage, the Ambassador stood, pale skin gleaming in the spotlight, and then he began to sing.

Jen slumped down in her chair and Spock could tell that this was not her usual unruly slouch, but an expression of distaste. Though, luckily for the Ambassador's ego, he could not see from his place on the stage the signs of horror that were clear on Jen's face. Nyota reached across the table to pat Jen's hand, whispering sympathetically, “Well, at least he can stay on key.” She winced. “Mostly on key.”

McCoy, seated on Jen's left, said gruffly, “It's not a bad song, either.”

It was a twenty-second century love song, of the pop-operatic variety. Spock had not expected the doctor to be sentimental enough to enjoy it. He accordingly revised his opinion of the man downward.

Spock leaned in from where he was seated on Jen's right to observe quietly, “Though he professes to care deeply for you, I would have expected the Ambassador to conduct enough research to know that you prefer twenty-first century rock and metal over twenty-second century love ballads.”

She chuckled, her body relaxing and the expression of doom in her eyes fading. Spock straightened, his goal achieved. When he looked up, Nyota was giving him a most curious glance. He returned it, a slight furrow of puzzlement in his brow. Her glance shifted over to the captain then back to him, before she pulled away from Jen and turned her attention to the stage.

After the Ambassador's musical number ended, he bounded over to their table, flushed pink and grinning. With a flourish, he presented Jen with a bundle of flowers – Terran roses, if Spock was not mistaken, a variety that was deep red on the outside, with a purple heart. Artificially-induced coloring, as he recalled, and surely very expensive.

“Thanks,” Jen mumbled, taking the flowers from the Ambassador. She promptly sneezed. She blinked for a moment, glared down at the roses suspiciously, and sneezed again.

McCoy confiscated the flowers immediately, handing them to one of the Ambassador's attendants, all seven of whom had found their way to the table in the last two point eight minutes. “Get rid of these, you damn fools,” he said. “She's allergic.”

“My deepest apologies,” Ambassador Dorien said, pressing his hands over his heart in the expression of highest regret among his people. “I was told that flowers were a most appropriate gift for such a talented and beautiful woman. I will consult with my sources and find a better one.”

Jen wiped at her nose, which was still twitching. “No way you could know,” she said, and the Ambassador heaved a mighty sigh of relief. “Nice number.”

“You liked my song?” The Ambassador's face lit up with an extremity of joy that Spock could not help but find it unseemly. “Oh, sweet lady, your words are a balm to my soul.”

It was a highly inappropriate performance, yet something in Jen appeared to be responding to him, her smile becoming more genuine. Spock was surprised to find himself thinking that this was... an unacceptable development. Though the captain had told him that the Ambassador had no wish to change her, he did not see any proof of the claim. He would not allow Kirk to be tricked by such an unworthy suitor. As her first officer... and as a friend... it was his duty to discover the truth of Ambassador Dorien's intentions.

He began to make a mental plan of attack – he believed that he could engage the support of the main bridge crew. McCoy, as the least, was nearly as leery of the Ambassador as Spock was, and could be convinced to aid in any attempts to reveal the truth of the man. Everyone on the ship cared deeply for Jen Kirk, not just as the hero that the rest of the galaxy knew her to be, but as their very own captain, who had saved all of their lives with her quick and insightful judgement. He would find no shortage of allies.

***

Convincing McCoy to help him was proving harder than anticipated.

“Why in the bloody blazes of hell would I do that?” McCoy asked.

“It is only logical, Doctor,” Spock replied.

“Okay, you tell me what's so logical about poisoning a Federation Ambassador,” McCoy said. “For the life of me, I can't figure it out.”

“I do not wish to poison him,” Spock pointed out. “Merely induce a state of honesty so that we may assess his suitability as a partner for the captain.”

“Do you know what happened the one time that I tried to influence Jen's dating decisions?” McCoy asked. “I'll tell you – she gave me a black eye and didn't speak to me for a week. I learned my lesson. Just because she's younger than us doesn't mean that she wants us to act like older brothers. She can take care of herself, Mr. Spock. She won't thank you for treating her like she's made out of glass.”

“I have no intention of doing so,” Spock said. “I merely do not believe that the Ambassador's intentions are what he claims, yet the captain does not see it.”

“Maybe because it isn't there,” McCoy said. “Stop worrying about who Jen is dating and keep an eye closer to home.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“I'm guessing that Uhura isn't too thrilled with your new obsession,” McCoy observed.

“I have not yet discussed the matter with her,” Spock said. At McCoy's incredulous look, he continued, “As you are the captain's closest friend, it seemed prudent to broach the topic with you before approaching anyone else.”

“Great, you haven't told her,” McCoy said. “You do that first, then come back here and talk to me. If you still have all your limbs.”

As the Doctor was human, Spock had to give him some degree of authority in this matter, given his greater experience. Still, he was certain that any discussion with Nyota would only confirm that he was doing the right thing.

***

“You want to do what?” Nyota asked, sounding stunned. There must be something that he was missing, some emotional piece that would make everything clear.

“I would like to test Ambassador Dorien's suitability as a mate for Captain Kirk,” Spock repeated. “Preferably without his knowledge, as that would influence the test.”

“I can't believe it took me this long to see it,” Nyota said, in response to nothing that he had said, as far as he could tell. “I must have been blind. I should have known. The way you reacted, from the very beginning. You almost _killed_ her and then you became best friends. That's not normal.”

“I'm not certain of the relevance of that particular event,” Spock said stiffly. It was not something that he enjoyed being reminded of – Jen's harsh words had echoed so loudly in his ears that he'd struck her to shut them out. If his father hadn't intervened, she would have died at his hands. As it was, he'd left her gasping for air, a red ring around her neck that had turned to vivid bruises later that day.

“No, you aren't,” she said, then she did something entirely inexplicable. She walked over to the wall dresser they shared and began to remove her clothing. After she had laid her uniforms out on the bed, she went to gather more of her personal belongings, a determined look on her face.

“Nyota, what are you doing?” Spock asked.

“I'm pretty sure you can guess,” she said. She wrapped everything up together and pulled a storage bag out of closet, stuffing her belongings inside.

“It is obvious that you are... moving out,” Spock said. “I simply do not understand the logic behind it.”

“I'm a xenolinguistics major,” she said, softly. “That means I can read the writing on the wall, even when it's in Vulcan.”

“Nyota.” Spock reached out to cup her face.

“Ask yourself something,” she said, her voice quavering slightly, undermining her outward display of serenity. “Ask yourself why you care who Kirk dates. When you know the answer to that, you'll see the logic in what I'm doing.”

She pulled away from him, picked up the bag, and walked out the door.

Spock flexed his hand, still feeling the softness of her skin, and tried to work out what had just happened.

***

He did not return to speak with McCoy, nor he did make any attempt to discuss the matter with the rest of the crew. There was something that both McCoy and Nyota had seen in his behavior that distressed them and they were different enough people that their agreement on this matter had to indicate some important truth that he had not yet realized.

Instead of leaving his room, he turned up the heat and lowered the humidity, taking the room from a compromise between his own and Nyota's desires to something that was more purely Vulcan. He settled down on the bed and sank into a mediative state in hopes of discovering a clue that would lead him to the logic in Nyota's actions.

 _Why do I care who Kirk dates?_

He had already answered that, but he made the attempt to do so again. He cared because Jen was his friend... in all probability, the closest friend he would ever have, judging purely on the words of Ambassador Spock. Surely, friendship required him to do his best to support her, which meant...

Supporting her logically led to _not_ questioning her choice of mate, if he had not yet proved himself dishonorable. Ambassador Dorien was not someone that Spock approved of, but he could not, when he put his mind to it, think of any specific proofs that the man was less than trustworthy.

He'd been so certain. There had to be something.

Why did he care?

The _Enterprise_ lived and breathed on Kirk's word. Any significant relationship carried with it the possibility that Kirk would prioritize that relationship over the ship, and yet... Spock could not hold that up as a reasonable justification. Jen had the right to have happiness outside of command. Many captains had spouses and children. Moreover, Jen was uncommonly fond of both the ship and her crew, and Spock could not imagine her choosing to leave them behind.

He considered what McCoy had said. Did he consider Jen to be a surrogate for the little sister that he had never had? This, too, did not fit the situation. Though Jen could cause him to feel any number of highly irrational emotions, he had never felt a familial bond toward her.

He chased that thought -- how could he be certain that his emotions were not that of a brother to a sister? He often felt an exasperated affection for her, which could surely be classified under a 'sibling' category. He felt a warm glow of pride when she outwitted him in a chess match or pulled off a particularly challenging gambit on a mission. When she leaned over to speak closely to him, her voice lowered to a whisper, he...

He felt heat.

Nyota's logic had been sound.

His feelings were not that of an older brother or a close friend, or even those of a concerned first officer. He did not wish Jen to marry Ambassador Dorien because... because he wanted her to bond with _him_.

It was a most disquieting realization.

Over the past year, his friendship with Jen Kirk had grown swiftly. They had often acted as though they shared a single mind, particularly when danger threatened. He had been pleased about those developments, pleased that they were traveling down the road that Ambassador Spock had spoken of. Now, he had to wonder if that Spock's relationship with his Kirk was more than the man had revealed.

Had they been bondmates?

And now that Spock knew the truth of his own feelings, what course should he take? Seducing his captain would be even more inappropriate than his relationship with Nyota had been and, more importantly, the captain was currently embroiled in one unwanted courtship. She would not wish for more complications.

Spock breathed evenly, in and out, and carefully considered his options.

***

Three months later, tensions were finally easing between himself and Nyota. At all times, both of them had remained professional on the bridge, and neither severed their friendship with Kirk. Spock had discreetly let Kirk know of the change in his relationship status, but while the captain had been kind and sympathetic, she made no attempt to turn their friendship into a romantic bond. As Nyota had done most of the initial work in creating their relationship, Spock found himself rather at a loss for how to continue.

Their most recent mission had gone extremely well and they had found themselves inundated with the publicity that seemed to follow Jen Kirk around where she went – the press had, from the very start, been captivated by the woman who had saved Earth, and Kirk very rarely shied away from the attention.

Everything had been quite acceptable, if not optimal, and then Ambassador Dorien arrived on the ship. Jen had smiled at the sight of him, and he had presented her with a gift of chocolates, something that Spock was well-aware would not cause adverse allergic effects in the captain.

Jen reached forward, resting her hand against the Ambassador's chest and Spock opened his mouth before he realized what he would say, “Captain,” he managed.

“Mr. Spock,” Jen responded immediately, pulling away from the Ambassador and coming up the deck to the science station. She rested an arm against the wall and leaned toward him. “Is something wrong?”

Ambassador Dorien had followed her and stood directly next to her, his hand curling around the small of her back. “What trouble can you be having while docked?” he scoffed. Spock's eyes narrowed and Jen's back stiffened.

“I'll thank you not to insult my crew,” she said, stepping away from the man's touch. He started to follow her, but her frosty glare stopped him. “Mr. Spock is my first officer; there is no one in the galaxy that I trust more. He wouldn't call for my attention if it weren't necessary.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Spock said. He rose smoothly from his chair, a darker part of him pleased to note that he was taller than the Ambassador. Not that it mattered, particularly. Any Vulcan could have easily beaten the man in a fight. “Our business is urgent, but something I would like to discuss privately.”

“Of course,” she said warmly, without a moment of hesitation. She turned slightly toward the Ambassador, and her manner to him remained cool. “You can stay on the bridge if you want or you can go home. It's up to you.”

The Ambassador's gaze flicked to Spock's – he saw something in there to make him quail slightly but, to his credit, he didn't back down. “I'll wait here for your return, Captain Kirk.”

“As you wish,” she said and she and Spock headed toward the turbolift. He was, he admitted to himself, having a touch of what humans called _deja vu_ , because once the lift was in motion, he reached out to lock it in place, unwilling to wait even a moment longer.

Jen watched him carefully, her clever mind surely coming up with a number of possible scenarios.

“What did you want to say to me that you can't say in public?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Spock said. He stepped closer to the captain, though still outside the sphere that he had determined was her personal comfort zone. She tilted her head back slightly – though a tall woman, she still did not have his height. “I have nothing that I wish to say to you.”

Her forehead creased in confusion, but when he took another step forward, he saw the light of dawning realization in her eyes. The logical thing would be to verbalize his feelings and wait for an answer, however, he was not feeling particularly logical at the moment.

He slid a firm hand around the back of her neck and leaned down, pressing their mouths together. She let out a sharp exhale and when she parted her lips to breathe in again, his tongue followed. Though she had been surprised at first, her stillness lasted only a moment – her cool human hands found the bottom of his tunic and slipped up underneath to caress his skin. When he finally broke the kiss, he was surprised to discover that he had pressed her against the wall of the turbolift.

She was grinning, that same cocky smile that she'd worn the day she'd beaten the _Kobayashi Maru_. That day, he'd wanted nothing more than to find out how she'd cracked his program, and her insolent attitude had only caused him to become more determined that she not get away with breaking the rules. Today, however, it inspired him to reach forward to place two gentle fingers against the curve of her lower lip.

The turbolift beeped at them in protest but Jen ignored it. Pulling away from him slightly, she leaned back against the wall, looking at him from underneath her eyelashes. She arched her back, her shirt tightening across her chest.

“You sure you want to do this in the turbolift?” she asked, her voice lower than normal. “I can think of more comfortable places.”

“Jen... Jennifer,” Spock said, reaching forward again. She caught his wrist, her fingers wrapping surely around him. He let her still his hand, let the tumult in his veins settle down, if only for a moment. “The location is irrelevant.”

“Why are you doing this, Spock?” she asked, but he found that he was more concerned with the language that her body was speaking – she filled his senses, the scent of her body beckoning him, the dark pink of her mouth bidding him welcome, the light touch of her hand grounding him, the quickness of her breath and heartbeat telling him that he had affected her as surely as she moved him. “Why now?”

He lifted up his free hand to her face, almost but not quite touching the meld points. Her eyes widened and they were a darker blue than he'd seen before, her arousal clear in the dilation of her pupils. He collapsed against her, his fingers staying a hairsbreadth away from connection.

“Spock,” she whispered, her breath gusting across his cheek. Her hand had lost its grip on his wrist and he took the opportunity to slid his fingers across her palm and then he carefully held her hand against the wall. Her other hand still rested on his back, on the skin underneath his shirt. “I don't... I don't know what you want me to do.”

“Be with me,” Spock whispered, his eyes closing as he did his best not to lower his hand and attempt to force a meld. “Be within me.”

Another slow, aching moment and then he felt her – her head lifting, his fingers skimming her face and pressing lightly into the nerve endings that would allow him to...

to _connect_.

Time stopped existing, as did the turbolift around them. All that existed, all that mattered, was held in the bond that Spock slowly started to wind around their minds. Jen was curious, almost innocently so, and touching her mind was like the day that his mother had brought him a special treat from her home – ice cream – and it had been cold and sharply sweet, tingling in his mouth after he'd swallowed.

“I think I can handle being ice cream,” Jen murmured. He let out a breath of surprise, though her ability to do more than he expected had been well-established by this point. He pulled back, his eyes opening to meet her steady gaze. His fingers stayed in place on her face and she made no attempt to move away – she had no plans to, he could sense through the bond. If anything she was... pleased by the events of the day.

She was beautiful inside her mind, all darting, quicksilver thoughts and emotions, twining around each other until they were impossible to separate. It made so much sense, now, the way she behaved. Emotion firmly joined to thought, she leapt and then thought of the logic afterwards.

He could feel the leftover grief of her father's loss, the pain and restless anger that had marked her life. Meeting Nyota, meeting Pike and then Bones... they were the beginning of brightness, of a new beginning. Meeting him... _yes_ , he could feel that, too. The first moment that she saw him, the man who'd created the _Kobayashi Maru_ , he could feel both the power of her conviction and the sudden flush of heat that had flooded her system. She'd been attracted, even then.

“Don't flatter yourself,” she said, that familiar smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I'm attracted to lots of people.”

It was a truthful statement that should not have elicited an emotional response. It was not logical that his hand tightened on her wrist or that his head dropped down to suck hard at the curve of her neck until she gasped.

“Uhura,” she whispered. “David Copwright. Gaila. Ke'ret. Gary Mitchell. Huron.” With each name, a lewd picture popped up in her mind – what she had imagined doing and, in some cases, what she had done. He made a helpless sound against her skin, releasing the meld and her hand. He pulled back, pressing his hands against the wall above her shoulders, taking in smooth breaths to calm himself. Her flesh was bright pink where he had sucked on her neck and he needed to see more of her body. Her hands reached down to grab the bottom of her shirt, but that wasn't what he wanted. Instead, he carefully grabbed the neck of her shirt in both hands and yanked it apart, the tunic ripping down the center.

She stared at him, fascinated. “You're jealous,” she said. He ignored her words in favor of brushing her shirt off her shoulders. It fell down to the floor of the turbolift, and he paid it no more attention. So much more of her body was revealed, her breasts held back in a simple black bra. She grabbed his hand and placed it against her cheek. “Dorien.” The Ambassador's image was in her mind; he was naked and erect and while Spock knew that it was only Jen's imagination, that knowledge didn't stop the low growl from escaping his lips. He snapped her bra apart with one hand, filling his hand with her breast. She moaned in response, the picture in her mind flickering to Spock's face.

He reached down and yanked at the button on her pants, the thread breaking with the force of his need. She started to help him pull her pants down over her hips, and they slid down until her boots made it impossible for them to go further. She laughed and, for a moment, the tension lessened.

He slid down to his knees and he could hear her swallow loudly. Slowly, delicately, he unzipped her boots and pulled them off, along with her socks, then he tugged her pants down the rest of the way, and she stepped out of them. He slid his fingers up her long legs, and they were as smooth as he'd ever felt human skin be. Human women and their obsession with body hair.

“Were you planning on saying yes?” he asked, tilting his head in curiosity. “Were you planning on sleeping with the Ambassador tonight or do you always keep your legs hairless?”

She slipped one of her legs over his shoulder, allowing him to support most of her weight. One of her hands brushed through his hair – he could still hear the beep of the turbolift warning, but it wouldn't move until he or the captain put in a command code. He nosed at the soft flesh of her thigh, his tongue darting out to taste the salt of her skin. He could smell the heavy scent of her arousal, but he was content to wait for his answer.

“It... oh! ... it never hurts to be prepared,” she said, and the memories of a dozen or more impulsive one night stands flickered through her mind and into his. He catalogued them carefully, marking out what she had enjoyed and what she'd merely tolerated. He pressed his mouth against the damp fabric covering her cunt and made it wetter. She sighed in satisfaction and this was... this was something that he would explore again later, until he had determined the best way to draw out her noises and exactly how he felt about how her taste quivered on his tongue.

He didn't have the patience for it now. He pulled away from her again, letting her leg slide off his shoulder, and then he stood, running his hands up the length of her body as he rose. He ripped the last bit of fabric from her body, pressing two of his fingers into the warmth of her.

He fumbled at the clasp of his own pants, pulling the two layers of fabric down just far enough for his cock to spring free. He would... he would calculate all the best ways to bring her pleasure later. For now, he pushed her up against the wall, supporting her with one hand when she wrapped her legs around his waist, and then he reconnected the meld with the other hand, sinking into her mind at the same moment he sank into her body. A perversely cool heat washed over him and her mind was silent now, a wave of sensation that had no words.

He started to thrust against her, sucking at the skin around her jaw and down her neck, the same desires that had told him not to wait now urging him to mark her skin until there was no mistaking what had happened.

This was more than sex – this was _claiming_ , the way Vulcans had done of old. Her skin would be the story of his need for her, written out in burst blood vessels and bruises. He drove into her hard, pushing his pleasure into her mind and straining out her enjoyment into his own.

And she was... for all that she had a human body, he was well aware of how much damage she could withstand – Nero's Romulans had tried to kill her, _he_ had tried to kill her, and she had not only borne it, she had come out of it spitting defiance into the wind. In her mind, there were the images of dozens of fights, of her body coming out bloody and sometimes broken, but her spirit... ah! her spirit was never even injured.

She shuddered in his arms and, even with the meld, it took him a moment to realize that she'd climaxed. The pain had accentuated her pleasure, taken it higher and faster. Both of them moaned at the realization, a single voice between them.

He kissed her again now, her lips trembling against his, and whispered the words of the Vulcan marriage ritual into her mouth.

He thrust into her one last time and the last of his control snapped, his hips stuttering as he emptied into her. His completion left him far more exhausted than he had ever felt previously, as though he had given her his mind and katra along with the seed of his body.

“Katra?” she whispered hoarsely... or perhaps that was as loud as her voice could be, at the moment. When he opened his eyes to look at her, he realized that they'd slid down the wall, his legs not up to the job any longer. Her legs were still wrapped around his waist and, he realized with a shiver of delight, he was still inside her. He could see the faint marks on her body that would bloom into true bruises later, but could not find it in himself to feel apologetic.

“I believe you would call it a soul,” Spock said, removing his hand from the meld points and merely stroking her face. “The essence of who I am.”

“Is it only Vulcans that have them?” she asked. “Or does everyone get one?”

“I do not know,” Spock said. “I believe that you must, but I am not sure if that is based on sound reasoning or merely blind hope.”

She nodded, then winced, her hand reaching up to touch the most damaged part of her neck. It was dark red and would only look worse later. Her head thumped back against the turbolift wall and then she burst out laughing.

Spock frowned slightly, unable to trace the source of her amusement.

“There are... there are security cameras in all the turbolifts,” she said, raising a rather shaky arm. “So, if you were hoping for privacy... we just had our first time in front of at least two members of security.”

Her hair was damp with sweat, her cheeks glowing with exertion – it would be obvious she'd engaged in intercourse even if the turbolifts had lacked monitoring equipment.

“Remind me of any regulations regarding inter-crew fraternization,” she said, slowly disentangling their bodies – he slid out of her with regret.

“If there is proof that a relationship is hindering the chain of command, the lower ranking member will be transferred,” Spock said.

“That's all?” she asked. As she stood up, she slowly stretched out her muscles, each curve being shown off to its best advantage. “Oh, and give me your shirt.”

Spock glanced down at the heap of ripped fabric and nodded, standing up and pulling his blue science shirt off and handing it over to Jen. It was not quite long enough to be a dress, but she wasn't nude any longer, which seemed to be enough to satisfy her.

“So, unless I misinterpreted something, I think you just eloped with me,” she said, a wry twist to her mouth. “Most people ask first.”

“Most people are not Vulcan,” he said. She laughed, not the sound of someone who was displeased with their surprise marriage. She tugged on his black shirt, pulling him into a warm kiss. Afterwards, she did up his pants.

“Ready for the consequences?” she asked. He reached forward and disengaged the lock on the turbolift. Then he opened his hand and held it out to her. After a long moment, she placed her hand into his, fingers locking together. When the turbolift doors opened, they walked out together.

  
_the end_   


**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt:  
> "1. Post-movie, Captain girl!Kirk (born a girl! was always a girl! because there's just not enough het kink/smut here!) is being VERY publicly pursued by some Starfleet higher up/random dignitary/important world leader/high ranking official/etc. (Elaborate, public courtship ritual, please!)
> 
> 2\. Spock is meanwhile involved w/Uhura. But, he realizes he does NOT approve of girl!Kirk with anyone but himself. Cue Uhura/Spock break up and emergence of jealous!Spock, who does everything he can to foil the courtship from succeeding.
> 
> 3\. Serious bonus points if jealous!Spock makes a huge public spectacle when he can't seem to get the "other man (or woman or being)" to back off."


End file.
